I can't believe it's been two years.
Two years ago I held you. Two years ago you died.
I used to say that it felt like a lifetime ago and like yesterday at the same time, only lately it feels more like the lifetime.
Your death has opened me, like cracks in the sidewalk. For awhile there was only rain to fill the spaces. And how the water froze.
But those spaces have expanded. They have thawed, and slowly, gradually, other things began to enter. Other things have occupied the cracks. Angry things. Brave things. Happy things.
But the sadness, the gut-wrenching kind that made me want to die seems like a lifetime ago. And I hate it.
I wish it were yesterday.
I wish I could say that I felt you yesterday, in this skin. On this skin.
I wish your memory were a day's drive instead of a flight.
I wish my heart still raced when they said your name.
I wish they still said your name.
I wish these walls knew your sounds. And I wish their hands knew their sister's.
But mostly, mostly I just wish you were here. It doesn't matter the words or the day or the time.
I love you and I wish you were here.